


The Heat of the Night

by Cherry_Pye



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Dean/Sam - Freeform, Guilty Dean, Hand Jobs, M/M, Masturbation, Sam/Dean - Freeform, Weecest, Wincest - Freeform, Young Sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-07
Updated: 2019-07-07
Packaged: 2020-06-23 22:20:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19710622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cherry_Pye/pseuds/Cherry_Pye
Summary: When Dean gets drunk enough, Sam gets what he wants. For a little while, at least.





	The Heat of the Night

**Author's Note:**

> This is actually my favorite piece of writing so far. Interestingly enough, I kinda just wrote it for myself, so it’s very very raw, but then I loved it so fucking much when I reread it that I had to post it here.
> 
> 90% smuttiest smut  
> 10% really heartbreaking angst (at least to me)
> 
> If you don’t want the angst, stop reading when you see the @ symbol.
> 
> Warnings: unspecified underage Sam, but he’s probably more significantly underage than he is in my other stories. That’s how this reads. Also sexual acts while under the influence (Dean under the influence).
> 
> I added in a shmexy GIF about midway through just for fun, but since there’s now an actual visual depiction of “young Sam,” I figured I should include a warning about it.

Sam held his breath, waiting, his skin pricked with goosebumps as he listened for the deep, slow sleep breaths from Dean that weren’t coming.

He risked sliding a hand down his stomach, hiking up his t-shirt just slightly with trembling fingers and gently easing below the elastic of his boxers, not enough to actually touch himself, but enough to hopefully get Dean’s attention…

If he was drunk enough, anyway.

With a low exhale from beside him, Dean suddenly pressed his thigh into Sam’s, groaning quietly and shifting his weight while he murmured “do it,” fluttering Sam’s pulse and bringing his teeth down over his lip to stifle a moan as he pushed fully into his boxers and wrapped his fist around his aching cock, arching up shakily into the friction.

Dean panted out his approval, and Sam turned his head to gaze at his brother in the dim light of the room, breathing in the scent of whiskey and letting his eyes droop to Dean’s crotch where Dean was rubbing steadily over the hard outline of his cock with the flat of his palm.

For a year now they’d been doing this…not very often and only when Dean climbed reeking of alcohol into his bed, but…jesus christ, Sam lived for these nights, and he pumped up and down over his cock with a partial whisper of Dean’s name, swallowing the last half of it nervously when he remembered that he wasn’t supposed to talk…that talking snapped Dean out of it more often than it didn’t.

But Dean just groaned again, heeling his way closer on the mattress, and Sam’s heart skipped and tingled in his chest, a shiver rippling down his spine as Dean pressed flush against him, breathing out a deep purr of “yeahh, Sammy” that flooded Sam’s insides with heat, his hand clenching tightly around his cock and a gulp of air expanding his lungs with a jolting little gasp.

This was new…

Oh god, this was-

Dean’s right hand was suddenly on top of Sam’s thigh, light fingers playing with the cotton of his boxers, fumbling with the fabric, bunching it under his thumb, and Sam couldn’t stop the full plea of his brother’s name at that, jerking needily into Dean’s touch with another gasp as Dean shushed him, splaying out the full stretch of his hand almost possessively over Sam.

“Shh-be good, Sammy,” Dean slurred, exhaling through his teeth and using his other hand to tug at his own boxers, kicking free of them completely (to Sam’s utter disbelief) before walking his fingers up to the waistline of Sam’s boxers and murmuring, “Wanna get...more comfortable?”

Sam managed a frantic nod in the darkness, a soft whine immediately following it as Dean hooked his fingers below the elastic to urge downward, propping himself up on his other elbow to watch and inhaling raggedly as he slowly exposed Sam, bending to drag the boxers over Sam’s legs before lying back down again with a strained, heavy huff.

Sam’s eyes were glued hopelessly to the length of his brother’s bare cock where it curved up toward his stomach, hard and leaking and hotter in spades than anything Sam had ever imagined, and as Dean caught sight of Sam blatantly staring, he hummed low and deep, putting on a show of pumping just once, slow and dirty and thorough, before angling his body in Sam’s direction.

“So-, so fuckin’ pretty, Sammy…can’t fuckin’ stand it,” he hissed, his fingers pressing into Sam’s hip again, kneading down hungrily, and…god, Dean must have gotten completely wasted before coming to bed, but Sam wasn’t about to start questioning it, wasn’t going to pick it apart…because his brother was touching him and saying things to him and they were both practically naked and they were both definitely hard and just-just-

Sam sucked in another overwhelmed gasp, his cock pulsing almost painfully as Dean trailed closer with his hand, biting his back teeth together and shifting his pelvis in uncontrollable little grinds before finally falling the rest of the way over onto his side and managing in between muted groans to pant, “What do you-fuck, what’s…what’s okay, Sammy?”

Sam almost made a noise that would have been entirely too loud at that question, stifling himself with the back of his hand and lifting slightly with his hips as he breathed out a shivering moan of, “ev-everything, oh god…De-, anything, every…everything,” his response triggering a dig of his brother’s nails into his skin as Dean practically choked, turning to bury his face in the pillow for a long moment like he really might not be able to handle it.

“Fuck, jesus-fucking…god,” Dean groaned shakily as he pulled himself up onto his elbow again, his eyes burning like two heat lamps into Sam and his tongue snaking out to drag, slow and purposefully-provocative, across his lips.

“I, uh…just-, fuck…you don’t-”

He cut himself off as he inched his way closer, freezing a few tiny centimeters from Sam to clench and unclench his muscles before growling out several swears in a row under his breath and swinging his leg over Sam’s hips into a rough straddle, one of his hands darting down to cover the sob that had started to tear its way from Sam’s mouth and his pelvis jerking erratically into a sharp drag that brought them together in all the right places cock-to-cock.

Dean couldn’t seem to control the obscene, perfect things dripping out constantly and quietly from between his lips as his thrusts turned rapidly savage, the explosive, claiming grinds surging Sam’s body with white-hot pleasure and nearly liquifying him into a writhing, begging mess beneath his brother.

Dean lowered his head to Sam’s ear as he moved, breathing like he couldn’t remember how to and leaking precum onto Sam while his hands scrambled over the full stretch of Sam’s chest and shoulders, pressing in and rubbing down everywhere with frenzied, greedy, urgent touches.

“You really mean it?” he groaned, exhaling warmth onto Sam’s skin, “-you…you’d let me, wouldn’t you? You’d-fuck, you’d let me.”

Sam could barely even speak as he convulsed under Dean’s blanketed weight, blown away by this…utterly consumed by it, his abdomen filling even further with bunched-up waves of dizzying arousal and his fingers clawing in desperate stripes down the length of Dean’s muscled, sweat-slick back.

“Oh god-god, please, y-yes, Dean, p-please,” he finally managed to stammer, shaking like a leaf now and gasping out more fragments of nonsensical words as Dean snarled hotly into the side of his neck before lifting to his haunches and stilling there for a long, tense moment with a darkly-primal stare fixed unblinkingly on Sam.

Tossing his head back, he suddenly shifted to wrap his hands around both of their cocks at once, erupting Sam into a new fit of soft cries as Dean gripped them tightly together and immediately pumped up and down in rough, relentless strokes, swiping the side of his thumb expertly under the sensitive ridge of Sam’s cock and stiffening him violently down to the last muscle.

“Fuck-fuck, Sammy, jesus, you don’t even…you don’t even know, the things I wanna do to you-fuck, just…all the fucking time, every fucking time I look at you-”

Dean was panting out continuous bits of the hottest things Sam had ever heard, quickening his strokes and leaving his thumb firmly in place now to rub with the rougher pad of it in tiny, maddening stripes and circles where it counted most, dragging his forefinger across Sam’s slit on every upward pump and finally grating out a low hiss of, “Do it, Sammy, right now-right fucking now, Sammy, do it-”

Sam’s eyes rolled back instantly like he was seizing, his abdomen bursting like an uncoiled spring and Dean’s name on his lips as he came on command into Dean’s fist, tensing all the way down to his toes and lifting off the mattress with his entire torso as shocks of sensation ripped through him like knives.

He could distantly hear spine-tingling sounds coming from Dean, and he forced his hazed-over gaze upward again, a fresh pulse of achy arousal churning his stomach as he watched Dean’s pumps lose their rhythm and his mouth jerk at the corners around a deep, animalistic snarl, a gravelly prayer of “Sa-mmmy” tearing out of his chest and his thighs contracting painfully around Sam’s hips as he came in several mind-numbing bursts down the length of Sam’s still-twitching cock.

Rocking fucking obscenely through shivering tremors that clenched him repeatedly around Sam, Dean finally…slowly…relaxed, his stare tilting downward again centimeter by centimeter and his arm suddenly flinging to the side from where he’d been holding their cum-covered, now-softening cocks as he shoved himself, stumbling backward, off the edge of the bed.

@

“Oh god,” he whispered, sounding genuinely afraid, both of his hands visibly shaking by his sides, “-god…what did I…no. No.”

Sam scrambled urgently, breathlessly, after his brother, his fingers reaching for Dean, pushing at him, desperately trying to communicate.

“Stop, no, Dean, no-no, don’t,” he pleaded, his chest opening up like a gaping wound as he continued trying to grab for Dean, to make him understand, “Please, please don’t do this, please. Don’t you know how much I want this? Can’t you fucking see how much I-”

“-It doesn’t matter,” Dean interrupted, wearily holding up his hand to cut Sam off and shuddering through a deep, pained sigh, “It doesn’t matter, Sammy. You don’t get it. God…I can’t believe I-…you’re-you’re a kid, jesus christ a goddamned kid, and I’m supposed to…”

The rest of the sentence died on his lips, and his shoulders curled inward to hang heavily while Sam stared, hot tears stinging his eyes and his arms trembling as he fought the urge to cry…which would only add fuel to Dean’s argument that he was ‘just a kid,’ fuck…just a fucking kid-

“I’m so sorry, Sammy. Fuck, I am so…fucking sorry-just don’t, don’t say it. Just…I’m gonna go, I gotta go…”

Sam silently watched Dean leave, remaining absolutely still on the bed for a long, long time after the soft click of the closing door before finally dissolving into almost blinding tears that collapsed him down face-first into the mattress.

“I fucking love you, you fucking asshole,” he whispered too late into the dark air, shoving his arms under his body into some kind of self-comforting embrace that didn’t make him feel any better at all, “You don’t…you think I’m the one who doesn’t get it. You’re the one who doesn’t get it. You’re the fucking one who doesn’t get it.”

He squeezed his eyes tightly shut, just wanting unconsciousness to come and hurting in a way he’d never even known was possible.

If he hadn’t pushed it, maybe if he hadn’t pushed it…

It would be the first but nowhere near the last night that he would cry himself to sleep over Dean, wishing he could…wishing he could make his brother understand.

**************

  
Six weeks since Sammy had lost Jess, and Dean wished he could somehow take away his brother’s pain...all the while feeling shamefully thankful that it was the two of them again, just the two of them, which-

What kind of person did that make him?

But it had taken him three and a half years of deep, hateful self-loathing followed by the ultimate final blow (losing Sammy to Stanford) to begin to understand that maybe, just maybe he and Sammy had always existed on a different plane when it came to…well, when it came to just about everything, and he wanted to fix it. He wanted to make it right.

Somehow, some way…god, not that he deserved it, but he wanted to make it right.


End file.
